


I'm Not Going In The Tank

by ileolai



Series: One Shots (Good Omens) [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), cuddling in a sense, this may be a semi-autobiographical snake owner's lament
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 15:44:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19337578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ileolai/pseuds/ileolai
Summary: This came about from a discussion on how thoroughly Aziraphale would research snake care and whether he keeps snake!Crowley in a tank.





	I'm Not Going In The Tank

It takes some effort to present oneself as a six foot bipedal mammal when one is actually a snake, and sometimes Crowley just gets tired of it. It's also rather cold outside tonight, and he is ectothermic, it's unreasonable to expect him to die in the thirty seconds it would take to reach his car. 

So he curls up under the warm glow of the incandescent lamp on Aziraphale's desk, and takes a little snake nap. It's cozy and nice, until the angel waddles in with a stack of books, disturbing Crowley's snake dreams. He thunks them down on the desk, sighing. 

''Crowley,'' he says, poking him cautiously. 

Crowley would give him a ''fuck off'' sort of look, but that's hard to manage when you don't have eyelids, and your eyes bug out the side of your head, because you're a snake. So he just gives him the default snake look, and hopes ''fuck off'' is implicitly understood by virtue of the fact he is Crowley. 

''Now Crowley,'' he says again, determined to be irritating. ''If you're going to do that, I have to put you in the tank.''

Crowley hisses at him.

''Don't be like that. I just don't want to step on you if you go wandering off.'' 

That has happened, incidentally. Hence the whole idea of the tank. Crowley coils defensively, tongue flicking. 

''No.''

''I took the effort to make it nice for you, you know.''

He did actually, that's true. The tank is a spacious wooden vivarium with real plants growing in it, not fake plastic ones, and a working miniature waterfall, and logs to hide in and be snakey. It's a wonder Aziraphale thinks to maintain it on the off-chance it might ever actually be used, given the general neglected disarray of his bookshop, and your average snake might appreciate it. 

But Crowley is a sentient supernatural entity demon-snake, with at least _some_ semblance of dignity-- at least enough to draw a hard line at being plonked in snake jail for his own good-- and he's _not_ going in the bloody tank, thanks.

Aziraphale, reaching impatience, mutters and makes a move to scoop him up. Crowley, seizing the opportunity, zooms up his arm and wedges himself between his waistcoat and his shirt, down his back, where it's harder to reach. 

''Crowley!''

''Piss off.''

''I can't p-- you're _on_ me, how do you expect me to do that?''

After some indignant flailing, with a trade of profanity and polite but insistent disapproval, they are at a standstill. 

Aziraphale gives up.

''Alright, you stay there then. Don't go slithering about, I'm not apologizing if you get squashed.''

''Fine.''

''Splendid.''

_''Splendid.''_

''Hush.''

Aziraphale settles himself in his chair, and immerses himself in his books long into the night. Crowley stays warm and cozy, coiled up in his waistcoat, and dreams little snake dreams.


End file.
